


Journey to a New Beginning

by S_G_M



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, foot play, jacuzzi sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_G_M/pseuds/S_G_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are going about their day to day lives, when suddenly, Mycroft texts Sherlock to request his assistance in a matter of national importance.  Mildly interested, Sherlock finds out more about the case, and becomes quite interested.  It is indeed matter of national import after all.</p><p>Sherlock takes the case, and it changes both his and John's lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journey to a New Beginning

Rearranging the flat was proving to be quite the difficult task, especially with Sherlock assisting him. John had begun to move things around on his own shortly after breakfast, when Sherlock had decided to make at least a small effort in helping him. 

However, John wasn’t completely certain whether or not Sherlock was being all that helpful. 

He was mainly adjusting items after John had already relocated them and tweaked those things himself.

Not that it mattered all that much to John, it merely annoyed him a bit that instead of really chipping in with the agreed upon change, he was simply busying himself with making very minor adjustments to things he’d already done.

Not to mention the commentary. ‘That item’s colour does not correspond to the immediate surroundings.’ ‘That lamp will not give sufficient light from that vantage point.’ ‘Klaus will likely be enticed to play with the tassels on those new curtains.’ And so on.

Klaus, being a small black kitten. He had been a ragged, drawn little thing when they’d first taken him in. But, throughout the weeks, Klaus had fattened up nicely, and was now soft, clean, and very content.

To John’s surprise, Sherlock had become quite taken with the animal. John had never thought that Sherlock would be one to enjoy having a pet around. Although, he’d tried to disguise his affection for the kitten at first, now Sherlock would cuddle the kitten to his chest as he walked around the flat, particularly when he was thinking.

As John struggled to move the sofa on his own, entirely in vain, Sherlock walked over without a word, and began to assist in moving the item. Sherlock guided the sofa to where he knew John had planned on moving it to, knowing full well that John wouldn’t have been able to finish the task on his own, with the couch being so heavy and John being so diminutive.

Before long, the rest of the furniture had been reorganised, with the pair of them working as a true team. All that was left, really, was to move a few of the pictures around. Sherlock’s skull remained as it was on the mantelpiece, as Sherlock preferred.

John reached up to take one of the pictures down, but felt a sharp pain in his back from all of the hard work that he’d already done that day. Sherlock strode over, and removed it for him. “Sit.” He told John, motioning to the nearest chair. He opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it, and sat down. As Sherlock began to move a few of the pictures on the wall around, John closed his eyes and sank deeper into the chair, resting his head against it’s soft back.

Sherlock hadn’t been exactly keen on having everything in the flat reorganised, but knew that it had meant something to John, and so he’d kept his opinions on the matter to himself. Sherlock simply didn’t see the need to move things about, when all it did was waste time that could be utilised in a much better fashion. Like shagging each other senseless on the brand-new king sized bed set that had been delivered late that morning.

But, there would be plenty of time for that later on.

Sherlock hung the last picture on the wall, a photograph that had been taken quite recently. The picture was a sort of family photo, which John had asked for. And so, he set up the camera on a timer, and they tried a few different poses which neither of them had really liked.

But then, on the last shot, Sherlock had stumbled and ended up on his back as he landed on the sofa, head in John’s lap. As the camera’s shutter clicked, preserving the moment, they laughed and smiled at one another happily. Klaus sat on the arm of the sofa, near Sherlock’s bare feet, staring boldly into the camera. The photo had an almost dreamy quality to it, and Sherlock felt certain that it was the best photograph he'd ever taken.

Sherlock gazed at the picture for a moment, smiling a soft little smile, before turning back to John. His eyes were still closed, and Sherlock knew that he was falling gently into sleep. And after all of the effort that John had put in over the past six hours, reorganising the entire flat, including the guest room, it wasn’t all that surprising. 

Sherlock retrieved a light blanket from the linen closet, and gently draped it over John’s body.

He slowly walked through the apartment, taking in all of the changes. Sherlock wasn’t certain if he liked the new order of things or not. He did like the new cream coloured bedroom drapes, and the crimson silk sheets would definitely be something to experience. As he made his way back to the den, he shook his head. If nothing else, it made John happy. And that was good enough for him.

Nearly three quarters of an hour later, John awoke to the aroma of roasting chicken.

While John had been sleeping, Sherlock had been preparing dinner. This was something that was altogether rare for Sherlock to do, which made the gesture all the more special. 

Sherlock was an excellent chef, which had pleasantly surprised John when they had first gotten together. After all, Sherlock didn’t eat all that much, or that often. Especially while working on a case, when seeing Sherlock eating anything at all was a truly rare sight. Whenever he did eat, it was usually something simple, such as a scone and jelly.

And so, the fact that Sherlock was indeed quite talented in the kitchen was not a notion that John could honestly say that he’d had.

He breathed in deeply, noting the spices. He could detect chili, thyme, garlic and rosemary. He glanced at where the clock had been, and then feeling a little foolish, glanced over to the wall where it now was. 5:26 pm. Good. That meant that dinner ought to be ready in half an hour. John was feeling particularly hungry, having skipped lunch in order to continue working on the flat.

He looked into the kitchen, where Sherlock was busying himself with peeling potatoes. John could tell that he was lost in thought, as usual. It must have been something particularly interesting, as Sherlock’s nose was crinkling in the same way that John thought was absolutely adorable. Klaus sat at his feet, hoping in vain for something tasty to fall to the floor.

He stood up, and folded the blanket that had been placed over him, and put back into the linen closet. Sherlock didn’t notice; he was too lost in his fervent thoughts.

John joined Sherlock at the counter, finally nudging him from his mind, and picked out a rather large potato. He began to peel it with a small knife, as Sherlock seemed torn between chastising him for barging in while he was preparing a meal and being quietly happy that John had joined him in the kitchen.

Usually, he would have had John leave the area, as he much preferred to cook on his own. That was his alone time, something that he kept for himself and didn't really enjoy sharing.  
But, today, he didn’t mind so much. In fact, he was enjoying having John at his side as they prepared the potatoes.

“That chicken smells wonderful.” John told Sherlock, who agreed. “Humble, as always.” John teased with a smile. Sherlock raised an eyebrow playfully, but said nothing.  
After the potatoes were peeled and sliced into the pot, Sherlock put them on to boil. They washed their hands, and left the kitchen to sit in the living room. “Your back is feeling much better.” Sherlock observed, as John stretched, his shirt riding up and exposing his slightly soft belly.

John agreed, pulling his shirt back down, and sitting. “Do you still hate that everything’s different in here?” John asked.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t said a single word against the changes.” He stated in response. John laughed. “Then what were all those comments for whenever I moved anything?” He asked. “For the most part, they were downright complaints.”

Sherlock blinked. “I was merely offering advice on how to make things more efficient and aesthetic.” He replied, as John bit back a grin.  
“If you say so.” John said with a shrug. Sherlock crossed his legs. “I do say so.” He retorted. “If you don’t want me to extend such advice, I shall refrain from doing so in the future.”

John nearly rolled his eyes. The man could be so incredibly pissy at times. “Oh, don’t be like that, Sherlock.” He said with a tilt of his head. Sherlock sighed. The entire day had been tedious, and he was beginning to feel cranky.

Suddenly, Sherlock sniffed the air. “The potatoes are done.” He announced, and left to go and drain them.

As Sherlock mashed the potatoes, John stayed in the living room. Maybe it would have been better to leave the apartment as it was. Sherlock didn’t seem to like the change, and he certainly hadn’t enjoyed the process as John had.

Eight minutes later, Sherlock had everything prepared and on the plates. “John.” He called. John responded, and went to sit at the dining table. Sherlock had even gone so far as to find some fresh flowers for a centrepiece. John smiled.

Sherlock placed a plate of delicious looking food in front of him, before sitting in front of his own plate. There was a bottle of vintage wine, one of John's favourites, to accompany the meal, and Sherlock poured a portion for each of them.

As John put a bite of chicken into his mouth, he nearly groaned at how flavourful it was. Crispy, well-seasoned and with a hint of lemon, it was quite possibly the tastiest thing he’d ever eaten in his entire life.

John savoured the dish, grateful that Sherlock had chosen to cook that night. Sherlock noted just how much his partner was enjoying his meal, and decided that he would cook more often just to see that look on John’s face.

“Good?” He asked needlessly. John nodded. “The best.” He answered, his eyes nearly closed. Sherlock smiled. Yes, he would definitely be cooking more often.

After dinner, they went to lie down together on the new bed, and just cuddled silently. As John spooned Sherlock, an arm holding him close, they felt just wonderful.

The new bed was pleasantly firm, while still being quite soft due to the four inch memory foam topper. Sherlock sighed, as he snuggled into John’s warm form. As he wriggled, getting comfortable and oblivious to what the friction was doing to John, he closed his eyes. And then he promptly reopened them upon feeling John’s growing erection against his back. He tipped his head back, and glanced at John with a wink, making John turn crimson.

Sherlock loved that John blushed so easily. Even more so when even John’s ears went red. They had made love countless times, but even so, John was still a touch self-conscious when it came to his body’s reactions to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned onto his other side to look into John’s eyes and smiled a small, tender smile that only John had ever seen. John smiled back, feeling a little less self-conscious somehow. John found himself growing hard more often than Sherlock did, and felt that Sherlock might judge him for it, and John couldn’t help feeling embarrassed.

Sherlock was quite aware of this, and tried to make John feel at ease in this regard, although he never broached the subject. He didn’t want to further embarrass John.

Sherlock adjusted himself so that he and John were at eye level, and leaned in, kissing him incredibly gently. He could sense that John needed slow and sweet affection right then, and that’s precisely what he would receive. John’s mouth opened in response, and their tongues intertwined, tasting one another.

John moaned quietly, as he brushed a hand along Sherlock’s cheek, before travelling to his dark curls.

Sherlock kissed him a little deeper, as John played with Sherlock’s soft hair. Sherlock could smell the aftershave that John had used that morning, the same type that Sherlock had given him for his birthday.  
They broke the kiss, and John’s hands slipped from Sherlock’s hair down his neck and along the length of his spine. Sherlock began to feel that familiar stir in his pants, as John’s hand gripped his arse. John’s eyes shone, and his face was flushed.

An idea popped into Sherlock’s head, one he was surprised neither of them had thought of before.

He held up a finger, and gave John a mischievous look, before getting up from their bed and heading into their private bathroom. They’d had a Jacuzzi tub installed four days ago, but had been too busy with a case, and then redecorating, to have a bath together.

He started to run the water, pouring an amount of strawberry bubble bath under the running water. Strawberry tended to be Sherlock’s signature scent. He lit a few candles, and placed them around the room.

Once the tub was full, he shut the drapes, stripped down, and started the jets.

“Jawwwn!” Sherlock drew out his name, which always simultaneously annoyed and amused John to no end.

He got up off of the bed, eagerly anticipating what was in store, and headed into the bathroom. He had heard the water run, and had an idea as to what awaited him.  
John opened the door to find Sherlock sitting on the built in seat installed into side of the bubble filled tub, back against the far wall. 

His legs were apart, his elbows on his knees, and his hands pressed flat together with his index fingers against his generous pink lips. The candlelight played exceptionally beautifully off of Sherlock’s thin, but firm body.

John let out an audible gasp at the sight, evoking a grin from Sherlock. “Wow… Just… Wow…” John mumbled, taking in the sight, not wanting to ever forget how Sherlock looked in that moment.  
“Are you simply going to stand there in all those clothes?” Sherlock inquired in amusement, enjoying the look on John’s face.

John shook his head, blinking. He cleared his throat, and began to fumble with the buttons on his checked shirt. He soon gave up on that idea, and pulled it up over his head with a bit of difficulty with it being as formfitting as it was.

He slipped off his trousers, and his red y-front pants (the ones that Sherlock seemed to favour), before looking back to Sherlock. His breath hitched in his throat once more.  
They had been an official couple for more than two years, but even so, being able to see Sherlock Holmes au naturelle hadn’t lost any of it’s novelty. For John, it never would.

He slowly walked over to the tub, breathing in the scent of strawberries. John smiled, remembering how ever since he’d given Sherlock strawberry seed oil to help soothe a rash he’d had, Sherlock had taken quite a liking to the scent.

John stepped carefully into the tub, and Sherlock motioned for John to sit with his back towards him.

Sherlock began to massage John’s neck with his long fingered, skilful hands. The sensation of the warm water and the jets making the water swirl around his naked body, along with Sherlock’s touch, sent shivers down his spine and raised goosebumps on his skin.

“Mmm…” John moaned, and leaned his head onto Sherlock’s left thigh as Sherlock’s hands moved to his shoulders. He took this opportunity to lean forward and kiss John’s neck, then lick his way to John’s earlobe, which he took into his mouth. As he gently nibbled and sucked, John bit his lip, his breath quickening a bit.

Sherlock released John’s earlobe, kissing him on the cheek before pulling away and removing his hands from John’s shoulders.

He stood up, and sat at the other end of the tub, stretching out his long, muscled legs.

John almost wished that Sherlock hadn’t decided on bubbles, as it obscured the view. John couldn't see that magnificent body, couldn't see Sherlock's glorious 7 ¾ inches.

But then he wouldn’t have been as surprised when Sherlock’s foot found it’s way between John’s legs, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the recipient.  
Sherlock maintained a straight face, as he began to toy with John’s thick manhood with his foot, beneath the thick layer of foamy bubbles.

John closed his eyes, enjoying the new sensation as he grew even harder.  
Sherlock leaned his head against the wall, and moments later, John could feel Sherlock’s other foot join in.

John could feel a foot on either side of his cock, and begin to rub his length in ways that Sherlock hadn’t tried before. He had never before used his feet in a sexual way on John, and John was rather enjoying it. He'd always loved Sherlock's feet, with his long toes and graceful arches.

John groaned loudly, as Sherlock continued on, watching him closely. Sherlock was achingly hard by now, and wanted more than anything to take John fast and hard, John bent over the side of the tub, pounding into him until they both came. But, that wasn’t what John craved right now, and did his best to ignore his own selfish wants.

“Fuck, Sherlock… Uh! Oh, fuck!” John hissed, feeling close to the edge of orgasm. Sherlock quickly stopped, leaving John breathless and craving release intensely. “Move closer to me.” Sherlock told him, and John listened. Sherlock moved into the middle of the spacious tub, meeting him. They sat there, with John’s legs on top of Sherlock’s, one on either side of his lover.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, and began to kiss him slightly more fervently before, but taking care to remain gentle.

John appreciated this. He often preferred leisurely and sweet, to swift and vigorous sex. Sherlock was more keen on the latter, and they had found a happy medium between the two for the most part.

This time, however, was for John.

After a few moments of letting their hands wander tantalisingly along each other’s bodies, Sherlock dipped his hands beneath the water, enveloping both of their rigid cocks with his big hands.

John moaned a little louder than he had before, and bucked his hips unconsciously. Sherlock hadn’t even begun to move his hands. He wanted to drag this out for a while, planning to bring John to the edge a few times, before letting him plummet over into a raging ocean of sensation.

Sherlock began to move his hands along both of their lengths, letting out a soft groan. It wasn’t long at all before John was bucking, at which point Sherlock removed his hands completely, letting John calm down a bit.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock, you’re going to kill me with this.” He managed, his voice tight. Sherlock grinned, pleased at the outburst.

John reached under the water to find Sherlock’s manhood, but Sherlock wouldn’t allow it.

“No, John. Not this time.” Sherlock told him softly, “Right now is solely for your pleasure, not my own.” He explained. John thought this must be his way of making up for snapping at him the other day at the crime scene in Piccadilly.

John opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock merely shushed him, quieting him with kisses.

He ran his hands over John’s chest, teasing his nipples, before deciding to try something completely new.

Something that ought to take John’s breath away.

Sherlock took a few breaths, then went completely underneath the water, the bubbles camouflaging him completely.

John gasped loudly and swore, as Sherlock took him into his mouth, down into his throat. He was under the water for perhaps twenty-five seconds before John came hard, right down Sherlock’s throat.  
Sherlock popped up from underneath the water, his hair and face covered in bubbles as he wiped them away and gasped for air.

John’s eyes were wide, and he was panting heavily, as he gazed at Sherlock in wonder. He had certainly not seen that move coming. Sherlock was always finding new things to try, being rather adventurous sexually.

“Wh- That was… That was fucking amazing, Sherlock!” He choked out. Sherlock smiled proudly, as John sighed in complete satisfaction. Sherlock turned John around, and brought him close, having John lean against his front.

Sherlock ran a hand up and down John’s arm, relishing the closeness and feeling very blessed to have John in his life. In that moment, his thoughts came to a halt, and his mind was quiet. He wasn’t entirely comfortable, however, as he was still unpleasantly hard.

As John snuggled more deeply into Sherlock, he became aware of this fact.

As much as he wanted to merely lie there, enveloped in Sherlock’s strong arms, he couldn’t in all good conscience do that. He moved to sit up, to Sherlock’s annoyance. He knew what John had in mind, and though his body craved John’s touch badly, he wanted this to be about John, and John only.

“Can’t you just stay still and enjoy your afterglow?” He asked with a slight huff.

John nearly burst out laughing. He wasn’t sure why, but he found this rather amusing. He swallowed his laughter and bit back his grin. “Sherlock, if this is supposed to be about me, then shouldn’t I be able to give you pleasure if I want to?” He asked validly, cocking an eyebrow.

Sherlock knew that he was right, although a part of him still wanted John to just enjoy what he’d been given and relax. “Why are you being so adamant about this, anyway?” He asked curiously.

“Because,” Sherlock began, “For one, I realise that I may have been a touch insufferable for the past week or so. And secondly, I’ve never been selfless enough to focus my attentions on only you. My own needs got in the way, and I may have neglected yours as a result.” He explained.

“You have been a bit of an arse this past week.” John agreed, leaning his head against Sherlock’s chest again. Sherlock shrugged. “But, I don’t need you to deny yourself and focus solely on me.” John looked up at Sherlock, looking meaningfully into his eyes. “And, you have always been a generous and attentive lover, even when you focused on yourself instead.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and John gave him a look back. “Now, are you going to let me have my way with you, or not?” John asked boldly, crossing his arms. Sherlock chuckled softly, throatily, and consented.

John turned to face Sherlock, and let his hands drift underwater to Sherlock’s nether regions. He wrapped one hand around the sizable penis, and let one hand trail lazily along Sherlock’s torso.

As John began to pump, firmly gripping Sherlock as was his preference, he looked deeply into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock’s breath began to quicken. He could feel the heat begin to radiate from his core, travelling throughout his body, as John’s hands worked their magic.

Sherlock bit his lip, sweat dripping down his face. He began to moan, as he reached the brink. John was hard once more, and wanted more than anything to be inside Sherlock. This was supposed to be about him, wasn’t it? Perhaps he should say something.

“Sherlock…” John started, but then trailed off. He never had been very skilled at communicating his needs.

Sherlock nodded. “Mm-hmm?” He managed. John stuttered slightly before being able to say “I’d like to be inside you if that’s all right.” He cleared his throat.

Sherlock nodded once more, and John gave him room to manoeuvre himself for access. Sherlock leaned over the side of the tub, presenting his proud buttocks. “Hurry up, John!” He demanded impatiently, making John grin at his enthusiasm.

John slid a finger inside Sherlock, evoking a throaty groan from him. He was relaxed enough that he really didn’t need much, if any preparation. He removed his finger after giving Sherlock's prostate one good rub and got to his knees, positioning himself.

Sherlock was getting more impatient by the second. “John.” Sherlock said with a waggle of his alabaster derriere, prompting his lover. “Oh, shut up!” John told him teasingly, catching Sherlock off guard. This was different. Sherlock smiled. He liked this side of John, one that didn't often peek out from behind the curtains. A more demanding, more confident John would definitely be something he would enjoy seeing more of when they were intimate with one another.

John held onto Sherlock’s slim hips, as he very slowly entered Sherlock. Sherlock, being utterly impatient, leaned back onto John, impaling himself fully on John’s 7 ½ inches. John tsked at Sherlock’s impetuosity, stifling a gasp at the feeling.

Sherlock began to move his hips, as John began to thrust fervently. Sherlock had always favoured rougher relations, and so John was being much less gentle than Sherlock had been with him.

And he was rewarded with blissful moans and grunts from Sherlock, who moved with John. He plunged himself deeply into Sherlock, fast and hard, their wet skin making a slick snapping noise as their bodies connected energetically. He wasn’t going to last much longer, and John could tell by the state of Sherlock, that neither would he.

Together, they spiralled into intense pleasure, crying out each other’s names, as they revelled in the sensory fireworks that filled their bodies completely.

The feeling of John’s cock, throbbing and twitching deep inside of him, made Sherlock’s orgasm all the more intense.

It was a few minutes before either of them could move. John eased himself out of Sherlock, over-sensitive and thoroughly satisfied.  
They were both panting, and feeling tired from the exertion.

The water was growing rather cold, and their fingers and toes were pruny. “Time to pull the plug?” John asked, after they had both caught their breath.  
Sherlock agreed, and turned off the jets, as John drained the tub.

They stood up, and Sherlock draped a towel over John before grabbing one for himself.

After towelling off, they decided to forgo getting dressed, and headed straight to their new bed.

John pulled back the covers, and they both lay down. Sherlock held John in his arms, as they lay there, relishing in the afterglow and the feeling of silk against their skin.

John breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of his freshly cleaned Sherlock. They both drifted into a fitful slumber, neither of them waking until late the next morning. Klaus spent most of that time dozing at the foot of the bed.

Sherlock awoke before John, at 10:49 am. He decided that since he was up, he may as well make some breakfast for them both. Without dressing, he headed to the kitchen.  
He opened the refrigerator, where he found a container of mixed berries. He decided to slice up two bananas into a couple of bowls, add some berries and cream, a little honey on top, and toast an English muffin for them to share.

Yes, John would like that. He didn’t particularly feel like eating, but considering that he hadn’t eaten much of anything in the past fortnight, he knew that John would really begin to stress unless he ate a few decent meals over the next day or two.

And when John stressed, Sherlock stressed. He wanted his John to be happy, and so he was willing to eat even if he wasn’t actually hungry to keep him from worrying.

Just as Sherlock was filling the second bowl with cream, Mrs. Hudson knocked briefly before entering the flat with a ‘Yoo hoo!’ before Sherlock could warn her not to come in.

And, of course, she could see Sherlock in the kitchen quite clearly from the flat’s front door. “Oh, dear, I am so sorry!” She said in embarrassment, although her eyes lingered for just a moment before turning away, closing the door behind her and locking up.

It could have been worse, she could have walked in while he and John were in the middle of a frenzied love-making session in the living room. Sherlock wasn’t altogether bothered by the incident, being perfectly fine with nudity, whether it was his own or someone else’s. He shrugged it off.

This hadn’t been the first time Mrs. Hudson had accidentally walked in on his nudeness, and he doubted it would be the last.

After all, Sherlock often wandered around the flat stark naked, which could be quite flustering for John. Of course, there were times when that had been the sole reason behind Sherlock’s complete lack of attire.

He toasted the English muffin, smeared it lightly with homemade butter, and put the food on a tray to take back to the bedroom, after leaving a small amount of cream in a bowl on the floor for Klaus.

He returned to find John just as he’d left him, sound asleep, hugging a decent amount of the comforter to his chest. Sherlock smiled softly. John really was completely endearing. “John.” He whispered, easing the love of his life from slumber. 

“Jo-ohn.” He repeated a little louder, setting the tray on the bureau. John stirred in his sleep. Sherlock reached out, and put a hand on John’s shoulder.

“Wake up.” He said in a voice slightly quieter than his usual volume. John awoke at this. “Huh?” He grumbled sleepily. John was not the morning variety of person. “It’s nearly 11:00 am, John. More than time we were both awake.” Sherlock informed him. He picked up the tray, showing it to John, who looked rather pleased to see food.

John was famished, and eagerly tucked into his large bowl of fruit and cream, once in a while munching at the English muffin. Sherlock ate his breakfast less enthusiastically, but did finish the entire meal.  
“I’m very glad to see you’re eating something.” John told him genuinely. Seeing Sherlock eat two actual full meals in a row was a rare thing indeed, and John was comforted by it. He would be quite happy if Sherlock would eat more regularly, although he didn’t expect that would happen. He would settle for this for the moment.

Sherlock nodded, as his mouth was full.

Sherlock’s phone went off, and he retrieved it from the bedside table. It was a text message from his brother, Mycroft. ‘Matter of national import at stake. Reply asap.’ Sherlock snorted. ‘National import’. Mycroft did tend to blow things somewhat out of proportion in order to attempt some sort of lure in order to receive Sherlock's assistance. He was tempted to let his brother wait for a response and simply ignore the message. 

But, he was mildly interested in this wildly important matter that apparently needed his attention.

‘Details, brother.’ He responded, as John finished the last of his meal. It was a matter of seconds before Mycroft’s reply came. ‘The royal child is missing.’ Sherlock regarded the message for a moment, realising that this could be a very interesting case indeed. That was all there was to the message, which meant that there was plenty that was going unmentioned, likely for security reasons. 

A new message arrived. ‘I’ve sent a car. Be ready in ten minutes, or be prepared to come as you are.’

Sherlock grinned, recalling a certain incident where he had been practically dragged to Buckingham Palace wearing nothing but a white bed sheet.

“What’s up?” John asked, realising that it must be something to do with a case. Sherlock looked at him.

“We’ve got a case, one that should be noteworthy.” He said. “Get dressed if you want to come along, Mycroft’s sent a car that ought to be here quite soon.” John frowned. This must be at least a nine to get that sort of response from Sherlock. He wondered what it could be. A murder, perhaps? Or another baffling theft? There wasn’t time to think about it, he needed to get dressed.

As the men clothed themselves, Sherlock told John all he knew at that point. “Someone actually kidnapped the royal baby and got away?” He said in disbelief. “That can’t have been an easy feat to pull off.” He added, thinking that it must have been an inside job. How could an outsider get through all that security?

Sherlock agreed. But before he could say anything else, Sherlock’s phone went off. ‘Parked in front. Get in the car, Sherlock.’  
“They’re here, along with Mycroft, judging from the message.” Sherlock told John, who had just finished tying his left shoe.

As they travelled to Buckingham Palace in the black car that had been parked in front of 221 Baker Street, Mycroft explained a few minor details, leaving the rest of the explanation for when they got to their destination.

Twenty minutes later, the car arrived at the palace, and the three men were shown into the nursery by the day nursemaid, who told them all of the information that was available, which was thus:

• The baby had been put to bed at precisely 6:30 pm the previous evening.

• There were guards stationed at the usual locations, as well as one outside the corridor leading to the infant’s nursery and one just outside the room.

• The evening nursemaid had stayed with the child throughout the entire night, and claimed to have been awake the entire shift. (This, Sherlock could instantly tell, was somewhat fabricated. The nursemaid had certainly not been awake and alert the entire time and had in fact been having intercourse with the guard that was to be stationed outside the room and had fallen asleep not long afterwards. She had, however, stayed inside the nursery for the full shift.)

• The lovers had been caught in the act, and had, of course, been dishonourably dismissed from their positions.

Sherlock surveyed the room, searching for anything even slightly out of the ordinary. He found no evidence of the windows looking out onto the balcony being tampered with in any way. Being so high above the ground made no difference, if one was determined enough, it was quite possible that someone could break in.

The police had already been thoroughly over the crime scene, without anything to show for it, and so of course, Sherlock had been brought in.

Sherlock spent a good hour and a half scouring the nursery and a good amount of other areas before ending his search. There was seemingly nothing for him to find, which was extremely unusual. There was nearly always at the very least a vague clue, some tiny shred of information to go on. And here, there appeared to be none.

“I shall need to question the rest of the staff.” He informed the nursemaid. “Do you want me to get the night nursemaid and the guard, then?” She asked simply. Sherlock bit back an acidic response. “As I said, I will need to speak to the full staff.” He replied. “Everyone.” He expounded. “I… I’m not sure I can do that.” She told him. Sherlock sighed. “Then inform someone who can.” He retorted a little sharply, and with that the girl left the room.

“She wasn’t hired for her intellect, that much is for certain.” Sherlock muttered. John ran a hand over the crib’s side railing. He had always wanted children of his own, and looking around the nursery made him feel it all the more profoundly. “So, any ideas yet?” John asked, doing his best to hide his rather personal thoughts for the moment. 

Now was absolutely not the time.

“Three or four.” He answered, taking a closer look at the teddy bear inside the crib. He turned it over in his hands, noticing a long strand of blonde hair sticking to the back of the toy’s head. The strand was permed and dyed. The inch or so nearest to the root of the hair was jet black and straight. He took a pair of tweezers from his pocket, and put the hair in a clean press and seal back, before pocketing the items.

It didn’t belong to the day nursemaid, with her short, naturally ginger hair. One of the royal staff, one of the more important supervisors, entered the nursery.  
“I understand that you have requested interviews with the entire staff.” He told them in an irritatingly nasal tone.

“Indeed, I have.” Sherlock responded, his face blank and voice toneless.

The man stiffened his spine in obvious dislike. “Yes, well, that simply isn’t possible. It isn’t easy to run a royal palace, you know. And when your staff are taken from you, and things grind to a halt –“ He began with a haughty tone and a sneer, before Sherlock interrupted him.

“In the event that you have not been informed, the royal child has gone missing. Unless you wish to tell the Queen herself that you are hindering the search for that child, then I suggest you begin having staff members sent here to be questioned.” Sherlock responded in a firm tone. “Now, if you please.” He added, folding his hands behind his back.  
The man was flabbergasted. It was evident that it had been quite some time since anyone had dared to speak to him in such a manner. He blinked a few times, opened and closed his mouth, then turned and left the room, shutting the doors behind him.

John raised an eyebrow. “I really didn’t expect him to listen to you.” He admitted. Sherlock glanced out the window, noticing his brother speaking to five other individuals below on the grounds.  
“He doesn't intend to heed my words, John.” Sherlock told him matter-of-factly, walking to the door and opening it. “And that is precisely why we are going over his overly large head.” And with that, he left the room, John following close behind.

“And how are we going to do that, then?” John inquired, as they walked down the steps at a fair pace. “Just look for the one person who isn’t a royal, that the staff seem to fear. That will be the person we need.” Sherlock answered.

Upon reaching the end of the stairs, they fairly marched through a main staff area, shoes clicking sharply on the marble floor.  
“Hey, you can’t be back here!” Came a yell from behind them.

John began to turn and look at who the voice belonged to, when Sherlock shook his head and simply kept walking.

Quick footsteps indicated that that same person was now chasing after them. “Oi, are you deaf or something?” Came the same voice. This time, John did turn. “We’re going to need to speak to your head supervisor.” He said boldly. 

The man looked confused. “Um, no. You need to leave.” He said thickly. He reached into his pocket for a mobile.

Sherlock turned around in annoyance. “After you’ve finished calling security, you can go ahead and call the head supervisor of staff and save us some time.” He told the man, noting that his position was obviously not one where he dealt with many people. Which was fortunate, as he was a rather socially inept creature.

The man seemed to be considering what Sherlock had said, and as security answered, he relayed the fact that the ‘intruders’ were wanting to see the head staff supervisor. And, upon hearing the description of John and Sherlock, security told the staff member, who’s name turned out to be Derrick, to find out who they were. After being told, security asked Derrick to inform Sherlock and John that the head supervisor would be on his way as soon as possible, and to wait in the main hall.

Derrick seemed perfectly horrified that he’d detained the men.

“I am sorry.” He apologised. “It’s my first shift on my own, and nobody told me anything about you guys…” John’s expression softened a little. “Don’t worry about it. People always make mistakes when they begin a new job.” He said encouragingly. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’ll show you where you need to wait.” He offered, and began to lead them.

After a brief walk, they arrived in a particularly large hall, where they sat down in mahogany chairs to wait.

It was a good fifteen minutes before the head supervisor of staff, Martin Dollitt arrived to speak with them. After Sherlock explained the situation, Mr. Dolitt seemed less than pleased.  
“That is most unfortunate. You can be assured that they will be dealt with accordingly.” He said with a slightly cold edge to his voice.

“I myself will arrange for my staff, five at a time, to be sent to the nursery, as you’ve requested.” He told them. “Of course, you realise that it is a substantial amount of staff and you’ll likely need to break it up into two days work, or stay until the wee hours of the morning.” He added with a frown.

“Working through the night is no issue. However, it is imperative that no staff leave the premises until the interviews have been completed.” Sherlock stated.  
“That won’t be a problem.” Mr. Dolitt responded firmly.

“In that case, I shall head to the nursery and expect the first group of staff shortly.” Sherlock said, and stood up. Mr. Dolitt stood, and the men shook hands before Dolitt departed.

The first eight groups of staff had proven to be useless to the case, and John was growing hungry. It had been five and a half hours since they’d left home, and nobody had provided any sort of lunch at all.  
As the last person of the eighth group left, Mycroft stepped into the room.

“Has there been any advancement on the case as of yet?” He inquired, tapping his umbrella once against the carpeted floor.

“Not as such.” Sherlock responded. John’s stomach growled quite loudly. “Good heavens, haven’t you been brought lunch yet?” Mycroft asked, noting the time, which was 2:26 pm.

“No.” John answered moodily. John always did get grumpy when he was hungry. Mycroft sent off a text. “Well, that will soon be remedied.” He told John, who looked slightly cheerier at the prospect of food.

“Meanwhile, I shall be off.” Mycroft announced. “I’m badly needed elsewhere. I’ll leave this matter to you for now, don’t complicate things even further.” He said.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in annoyance, as his brother retreated from the room, not noticing Sherlock's response.

As Sherlock interviewed the ninth group, a decent amount of food arrived for them both. Of course, Sherlock consumed nothing as he was currently working. John however, gladly ate the late lunch.

Ten hours later, people were still steadily arriving. And, considering that with both night and day staff, along with the casuals that had been on site during the infant’s disappearance, there were roughly a thousand people to interview.

John groaned. He was beginning to get rather tired, though Sherlock seemed to be unaffected by the lapse of time.

As Sherlock continued to question countless numbers of people, John fell into a restless sleep in the chair he sat in.

By four-thirty the next morning, every single person had been questioned.

“John, wake up.” Sherlock said, rousing John out of unconsciousness. “We’re done here.”  
“Mmm, did you find out who it was?” He asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Sherlock gave John a look that said ‘I can't tell you that here’ and John nodded.

“Come on.” Sherlock said, and John got to his feet. There was a black car outside the palace to take them home.

On the way back, John fell asleep again, and Sherlock had to wake him for a second time. Once they were inside their flat, John headed straight for the bed, and stretched out underneath the covers.  
Sherlock joined him, and because this bed was considerably larger, he too, could stretch out comfortably.

They slept for a few short hours, before John awoke. Sherlock, snoring away like a souped up buzz saw, had awoken him with a particularly loud snore.

Sherlock often snored, though not to this extent. John knew that despite appearances, Sherlock must have been thoroughly exhausted by the end of those seemingly endless interviews.  
John gazed at him sympathetically, before deciding to let Sherlock have the bed all to himself.

John wouldn’t be able to stand much more of his snoring anyway.

He closed the bedroom door most of the way, and decided to watch a little telly while nibbling at some salt and vinegar crisps.  
He flicked through channel after channel, finally finding something vaguely entertaining.

He sat through nearly two hours of crap telly before Sherlock woke up, and came out of the bedroom, at which point John turned the television set off.  
“Well?” John asked. “What did you find out?”

Sherlock rubbed his eyes in the same fashion as a small child, and yawned.

“It was definitely an inside job, though I’m still not entirely certain how it was done.” He answered.

“Despite the opportunity, neither the night nursemaid nor the guard that was stationed just outside the door were involved.” Sherlock continued. “Obviously, the child was snatched while the nursemaid was napping. I am aware that Ella Welles, one of the chambermaids, has some valuable knowledge.” He said with a gesture of his hands. “She’s being held for further questioning for the next twenty-four hours, and I’m quite sure that we’re going to get something informative from her.”

John nodded. “Anything else?” He asked, thinking that there must have been at least one other person involved.

“No.” Sherlock answered.

John frowned. “But, wouldn’t there need to be more staff involved than a single chambermaid?” He asked.

“Not necessarily.” Sherlock replied. “I have a notion as to what happened, although I will keep that to myself for now.”  
John raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Sherlock to keep such details secret.

“If I tell you, and I’m correct in my hypothesis, then I could inadvertently put you at risk.” Sherlock explained. “Whether it is a kidnapping, or something more grave, being in possession of certain information could put you in danger.” He said, sparking John’s curiosity. "Particularly if it turns out to be what I think it could be."

Sherlock headed back into the bedroom to change into some clean clothes, leaving the door open in order to continue speaking to John.

“I’ll be off to the station right away, should you want to come along.” He offered. “ We could have something to eat at Angelo’s on the way home.” John declined, despite being tempted with Angelo’s.  
He was still tired, and simply wanted to stay at home. The previous day’s activities had been mainly mind-numbingly dull, and he’d had enough of boring interviews with possible criminals.

As Sherlock sat in the cab, watching the London scenery flash by the window, he thought more about the case. Ella Welles obviously had valuable information. He knew that she was directly involved with the royal babe’s disappearance, however he didn’t currently know just how directly involved.

After the cab pulled up in front of the station, and paying the driver, Sherlock stepped out of the vehicle and noticed DI Greg Lestrade smoking a fag in the alleyway beside the building.  
“Ah, Sherlock!” Lestrade greeted him. “Heard you were called in about the royal kid.” He said.

“That’s correct.” Sherlock confirmed with a slight nod. He gazed longingly at the fag Lestrade was smoking. “Would you mind –“ Sherlock began. “No, Sherlock.” Lestrade interrupted. “Sorry, but I promised John not to indulge your habit.” He shrugged.  
“Hell, I should probably quit, myself.” Lestrade added, more to himself than to Sherlock.

He disposed of the butt in the receptacle attached to the building, and headed inside, Sherlock following him.

“You’re here to see Ella Welles, I take it.” Lestrade said. “I’m the one in charge of her at the moment, so you can just continue to follow me after I sign in.”

In the small interrogation room, Sherlock questioned Miss Welles thoroughly.

By the end of the session, which had lasted over two hours, Sherlock had been able to detect quite a bit of truth behind her fabrications of reality.

She knew exactly who it was that had taken the baby from the palace, and had been the one to give the person access to the palace under the guise of the criminal being a new hire.

Ella had worked in the palace for the past eighteen years and was well respected and trusted by most of the regular staff. As one of the staff members that had been around longer than most, and because she did certain 'favours' for fellow employees in higher positions, Ella was treated more or less as a preferred employee and could get away with practically anything.

Sherlock was able to tell that it was someone close to Ella that had done the deed. However it was difficult to tell who it might be, or why the act had been carried out.  
But, that was enough to begin making a real investigation.

And with that, he left the station to pay a visit to the woman’s immediate family, whom lived within the city of London, with the exception of an older brother. Though, considering he was housed in a mental institution and remained under lock and key, he was hardly a culprit.

Sherlock learned nothing relevant from the parents, nor Ella’s three sisters or her Uncle Bernard.

He found out from Ella’s family many members of her social circle that could prove to be worth visiting.  
However, it was getting quite late in the evening, and he decided to call it a day.

He could begin visiting Ella’s friends the next morning.

When Sherlock returned home, he found John sitting at the desk on his laptop.

He could tell that John was looking at porn. “I didn’t hear you come in.” John said a little nervously. He didn’t want Sherlock to think that he wasn’t enough for him, and so he tried to hide the fact that he had been looking at naked pictures on the internet. Which wasn't unusual for John to do.

“I wasn’t doing much… Did you find anything useful out?” John asked in a slightly higher than usual tone of voice, still sitting behind the desk. He had a massive erection, and was doing his best to ensure that Sherlock didn’t take notice.

“I’ve made some advancement on the case, while you were here wanking to porn.” Sherlock teased. “Don’t try to deny it; all of the obvious signs are there, plus there's the fact that I can see a reflection of the computer screen in the window behind you.” Sherlock removed his jacket. “And that woman’s breasts are terribly fake. How on earth does that turn you on?” He asked genuinely.

John cleared his throat. “Aren’t the details about the case a little more important?” He asked in embarrassment.

“Perhaps, but as I told you, I won’t be sharing any more case details should the knowledge put you at risk.” Sherlock reminded him.  
Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt, before lying down on the sofa and gazed at John, who was blushing.

“Well, they do turn me on, yes. I just... like tits.” John shrugged helplessly. “Big, small, medium… They’re all great, really.” He finished, before adding "Oh, and by the way, I haven't been siting here wanking. Just for the bloody record."

“I see.” Sherlock said, an idea forming in his mind. Perhaps a three way which included a woman might be something that John would enjoy.

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you want to take care of that, or shall I?” Sherlock asked, glancing under the desk to the large tent in John’s trousers.  
“I truly don’t care that you look at porn.” Sherlock told John softly, doing his best to make John realise that it was perfectly acceptable.  
“Or that you look at women and other men in a sexual way. It’s only natural to do so.”

John looked shamefaced. “Except that you are more than enough for me, and I shouldn’t be looking.” He said, blushing a deeper crimson and feeling guilty.  
Sherlock’s face softened, and he got up and went over to John, pulling him up from the desk.

He leaned down and kissed John. “You are a very sexual human being, and you simply need certain visual stimulation that varies from my appearance from time to time.” Making it sound more scientific than anything. “It’s perfectly healthy, and as long as you remain true to me in body, then it doesn’t matter even slightly.” Sherlock assured him in a quiet voice, holding him close.

John sighed. He didn’t understand how even though he had Sherlock, that he craved the sight of other naked people. That couldn’t be normal, could it?

“Now, let’s go take care of you.” Sherlock whispered softly in his ear, letting his breath play along John’s neck the way he knew drove John crazy.  
John put an arm around Sherlock, and together, they headed to the bedroom.

Sherlock helped John out of his clothes, and sat him on the bed before settling between his knees. He picked up the black sleep mask from the bedside table. “Do you feel like trying something a little different?” He asked, brandishing it. John chuckled. “Kinky.” He said, and put it on.

John’s cock was aching for attention now, and was generously leaking pre-cum.

Sherlock breathed softly on the base of John’s erection, slowly making his way to the head, where he lapped at the tangy liquid. 

John was wriggling with the sensation, which seemed to have been heightened with the lack of visuals. He was able to really concentrate on just feeling what Sherlock was doing to him, and it was glorious.  
Sherlock ran his talented tongue up and down his length, making John hiss. Sherlock took his full cock into his mouth and down his throat, swallowing once before pulling up. He did this only a few times more, before John came in his mouth, calling Sherlock’s name, fingers laced through his curls.

As Sherlock always did, he swallowed.

John pulled him up for a kiss, tasting himself as their tongues danced together.

Sherlock, feeling tired and knowing that John was happy and satisfied, climbed into bed. The only thing he needed right now was to rest. John lay down beside him, watching Sherlock fall into slumber.  
John listened to Sherlock’s steady breathing as he fell asleep, finding it comforting, as he slowly drifted into sleep.

When John awoke the next morning, instead of finding Sherlock next to him, he found a note explaining his absence instead. Sherlock had left early in order to continue working on the case. John was a bit disappointed, wanting to thank Sherlock for last night before he left. He’d be sure to do so when he returned home, providing that Sherlock was up for it.

Sherlock only had six more hours before Ella Welles was released from her temporary confinement. That meant only a matter of hours before Ella had the opportunity to warn the other guilty party/parties to lie low, making things more difficult for him.

He began with Shelly Watson (no relation to John, of course), who was hiding something, although it was nothing in regards to the case. She was, however, running a drug operation out of her basement. Upon leaving the house, Sherlock texted a tip to Lestrade, whom he was certain would appreciate the information.

Next up was Merry Shipton, who knew absolutely nothing. Her husband, however, did.

Mrs. Shipton had quite a number of errands to run that day, and since Harry Shipton had taken a liking to Sherlock, invited him to stay a while longer.

Harry was under the distinct impression that Sherlock was Ella’s fiancé, and had let his guard down almost completely.

After a rather telling conversation with Mr. Shipton, Sherlock bid him good day. Before he left, Shipton arranged to meet him along with a couple of other men for a drink that evening at a local pub.  
With nothing further to do until that evening, Sherlock headed home, purchasing a jug of milk on the way back.

He ran into Molly Hooper on the way, and she greeted him cheerily. “Hello, Sherlock!” She grinned widely, happy to see him. She knew quite well that Sherlock and John were together. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Still, despite that, she had never been able to stop loving him.

“What are you up to, then?” She asked. Sherlock told her that he was just on his way home.

“I don’t suppose that you’d like to join me for a cuppa? I only live two blocks away, and I could make you your favourite.” She tried to sway him, but it was no use. She simply could not compete with John for Sherlock’s attention, romantic or otherwise.

He declined, of course. “I see, you’re busy. No problem.” Molly said, feeling a little crushed. “Maybe some other time, then.” She said, knowing that wasn’t altogether likely.

“Perhaps.” Sherlock said, shifting the milk to his other hand. They said good bye, and Sherlock continued on his way.

Eight blocks later, he arrived at the flat. He let himself in, and put the milk away. Klaus nearly tripped him, mewling shrilly for some attention. 

He scooped up the kitten in one big hand, and held the little fellow to his chest. “You missed me.” He said, petting the kitten. “So did I.” John said as he smiled at the sight of Sherlock holding the kitten. Really, it was very cute to see Sherlock being so affectionate to Klaus.

John opened the fridge. “You bought milk.” He said in disbelief. “You actually bought milk for a change.”  
Sherlock didn’t often go grocery shopping, but whenever he did, he always forgot to buy milk.

“What brought this on?” John asked, taking an apple from the crisper. Sherlock shrugged. “We were out of milk.” He stated simply. “So I bought a jug of it.”

John laughed. “We’ve been out of milk plenty of times before this, and you’ve never picked any up from the market.” He pointed out. Sherlock didn’t say anything, because something in his mind clicked. Suddenly, he knew what had happened, and it all made perfect sense.

“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock said, rushing to put his jacket back on. “I’ve got to go, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. Have dinner without me.” Even though he didn’t eat when on a case, he always kept John company during meal time.

Sherlock kissed John good bye, before rushing out of the flat. John knew that he must have made an important breakthrough in the case, and was happy for Sherlock.

There were twenty minutes left before Ella Welles was to be released. He made it to the station in half that, thanks to a cabbie that was willing to speed for a fair tip.

He dashed up the stone steps, unfortunately running into Anderson on the way to the front desk. Before he could say anything, Sherlock told him to shut up, and kept going.  
Once he reached the desk, he told them that he needed to see DI Lestrade, and it was only a minute or two before he appeared.

There was only six minutes left. “You have to keep Ella Welles in custody.” He said quietly. “Trust me, if she's given her liberty, then I cannot guarantee the return of that child.”

Lestrade gave him a confused look. “What are you on about?” He asked.

Sherlock gave him a firm look. “There’s not enough time to explain, just keep her in custody.” He said.

Greg Lestrade sighed. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything, Sherlock.” He said. “Let me see what I can do.” And with that, he turned away to head into the back offices. “Wait here, all right?” He called back.

Eighteen minutes later, Lestrade returned. “Look, the most I can hold her for is another forty-eight hours.” He told Sherlock. “That’s more than enough time.” Sherlock replied.

“For what?” Lestrade asked. 

Before turning away and exiting the building, Sherlock answered him in a low voice. “For closing the case of the missing royal baby.”

Sherlock met Mr. Shipton for drinks, whom he found at a table with three other men. Sherlock couldn’t help but notice the wet patch on Mr. Shipton’s left shoulder.

Sherlock pointed towards the patch. “That looks like it might leave a stain.” He said. It was as good as anything to get Shipton to start talking.  
“Yeah… The kid threw up on me.” He said. “The wife cleaned me up, but now I’ve got to walk around with a wet patch on my shirt.” He shrugged. “It was my last clean shirt, too. But, what are you gonna do, right?” He asked with a laugh.

Sherlock feigned a smile. “How old is the child?” He inquired. 

Shipton grinned. “Eight and a half weeks.” He answered. “You got any kids?” Shipton asked.

“Not yet.” Sherlock answered, recalling John’s broody look from when they were in the nursery with a slight pang. He wanted children just as much as John, though they’d never broached the subject. He put the thought out of his mind for the moment.  
“You want my advice?” Shipton asked, leaning in close to him, acting as though he had the most well-kept secret of them all. “Don’t have ‘em. They’re noisy, smelly, dreadful little leaches.”

Sherlock merely responded with an “Ah.”

Shipton took a swig of his beer, as though he wanted to drown out any thought of the baby at home.

Sherlock asked if Shipton had a photograph, as the other three men were content to drink and merely listen in.

The man dug into his wallet, and passed a small picture of his baby. The date stamp on the back showed that it was from six months previously. The child in the image was certainly his, however, the infant was far older than a mere eight and a half weeks with that date stamp.

And, Sherlock could see the sadness behind the man’s eyes as he glanced down at the photo before carefully returning it to it’s place of honour in his wallet.

“A handsome little lad.” Sherlock told him. Shipton blinked back tears. He was becoming just inebriated enough so that any sort of shields he had up were coming down, revealing everything to Sherlock. Though, he had already figured out most of the details.

By the pub’s closing time, the other men had already left. Shipton was far too drunk, and Sherlock offered to pay for a cab and to see him home. Shipton easily agreed.

Once they arrived at Shipton’s address, Sherlock paid the cabbie and hoisted the man up and out of the car. Halfway to the house, Harry Shipton passed out in a drunken haze. Sherlock let him slump to the ground, searching the man’s pockets for house keys.

There were no lights on in the house, not that it meant much. It was 3:00 am, and anyone inside would likely be asleep.

Sherlock knew that if he left Shipton there in plain view, that someone might notice him and complicate things. And so, he dragged the heavy man into the house.

He shut the door behind him, listening closely for any sort of indication that someone else was inside. Sherlock knew that Shipton’s wife was currently incarcerated, so that was one more person out of the way.

He heard nothing that would indicate another living creature within the immediate area of the house, and having quite good night vision, he set about exploring. The main floor held nothing of interest, and there wasn’t a basement to search. Sherlock headed upstairs where three bedrooms and a small washroom were located.

The washroom was empty, as was the first bedroom. The second bedroom, however, contained one tiny occupant, sleeping soundly in a bassinette.

The royal baby.

Sherlock retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket, and called Mycroft, as he had been instructed to do once finding the child. As he did so, he checked the third bedroom, just to be careful. It was vacant.

As he informed Mycroft of the situation, he began searching for something suitable to tie Shipton up, should he awaken and drunkenly stumble up the stairs. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a surly drunkard.

While he waited for Mycroft and the team of highly specialised MI5 agents that would be arriving with him, he tied Shipton up with a number of bungee cords that he’d found in a kitchen drawer.  
As he applied the last bungee, the baby began to cry.

Sherlock looked upwards, towards the cries, and headed upstairs. Being afraid of accidentally hurting this tiny, delicate creature, he very gingerly picked him up.

Sherlock gathered the child in his arms, holding him close to his chest. The baby’s cries softened, and soon stopped altogether.  
Sherlock stroked a small cheek with one long finger, and the infant reached out for the digit.

Sherlock allowed the child to take hold of his finger, and he was surprised at the grip.  
He hadn’t expected a baby to have such strength in it’s hands. Perhaps this little guy was tougher than he looked.

Sherlock smiled down at the young prince, feeling something profound begin to well up inside him. He swallowed a little hard.

Just as the infant had begun to fall back to sleep, Mycroft and the team of MI5 arrived, and he had to give the baby over.

Mycroft noted the look on his brother’s face when he had been holding the baby, and he instantly knew what it was that Sherlock was feeling. All too well, in fact.

He himself had felt that same way, before he resigned himself to the fact that he’d be a terrible father, what with the long hours that he worked and the fact that it was hardly likely that he would settle down with any one person for a length of time. A long lasting relationship was not something that he had ever wanted.

And so, he had abandoned that notion long ago, and hadn’t thought about that long buried desire for many years.

Mycroft accompanied Sherlock home in the car, as MI5 returned the infant to the rightful parents and took Harry Shipton into custody. Sherlock informed the agents of everything he knew about the entire situation before they left.

The brothers didn’t say much to one another on the way, but before Sherlock got out of the car, Mycroft looked meaningfully into Sherlock’s eyes.

“You and John love each other, and you want children.” He began.  
“The pair of you would make wonderful parents, and I strongly recommend the pair of you talking it over thoroughly,”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, wondering what it was that had brought this on. 

Mycroft continued. “I’ve wanted kids for years, but I’m not in a situation conducive to a child’s well-being. But, you and John…” He said. “The two of you would be able to give a child a wonderful upbringing.” He finished, feeling a bit empty inside.

Sherlock knew that telling him this hadn’t been an easy thing to do. Mycroft rarely showed this level of emotion or care towards his brother.

Sherlock was surprised. “Yes… I will.” Sherlock told him, before stepping out of the car. Before he closed the door, he thanked Mycroft, who actually gave him a tight lipped smile, before the car pulled away. Sherlock felt closer to his brother that night, than he had in so many years.

Sherlock entered the flat, trying not to allow his feelings to control him. John had slowly been talking him into just letting himself feel things more often, more clearly.

But, if he allowed himself to feel everything right now, he’d be wholly overwhelmed.

Sherlock headed to the bedroom after removing his shoes, finding John sitting up in bed, reading a book.

“You look terrible.” John greeted. Sherlock just lay down on the bed beside John. “What happened?” John asked, a touch of concern in his voice.

“I closed the case.” Sherlock answered.  
John waited for him to continue. “And what happened?” John prompted when Sherlock remained silent.

“A man named Harry Shipton paid Ella Welles quite a large sum of money for access to the palace, and to the nursery in specific. Of course, nobody asked Ella any questions when she lied to them about Shipton being a new addition to the maintenance staff.” He started. “Shipton’s own child had died shortly before making these arrangements. He isn’t coping well with the loss of the child at all, and has lost some of his sanity in the process.” Sherlock paused. 

John patiently waited for him to begin again.

“Little does he know that his wife had smothered the child in his crib, which is why she’s currently serving time. Harry Shipton is blissfully ignorant of that little fact. And, since his wife has been incarcerated, he hasn’t visited once. It’s my guess that he doesn’t care what she did to get arrested, he’s done with her.” Sherlock crossed his long legs.

“But, he was intent on being a father, on raising a child so badly, that he actually decided to kidnap the royal baby.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Your guess is as good as mine as to why he didn't choose to kidnap just any child.

At this John looked a little sorry for the man. After all, losing his son had his sanity ebbing away. It really was rather tragic, although that didn’t justify the crime.

“I found the infant in a bassinette on the top floor of Shipton’s house.” Sherlock went on, his voice softening in a way John had never before heard as he spoke. “After tying Shipton up, the child began to cry. I went upstairs and took him in my arms and…” Sherlock stopped.

John stroked Sherlock’s hair. “And what, love?” He asked tenderly, seeing a side of Sherlock that was completely foreign to John.

Sherlock found it nearly impossible to continue. Those feelings were threatening to swallow him again, have their way with him.

Sherlock looked at John with an intense look on his face. “John,” He said, licking his lips. “I…” John nodded, needing Sherlock to finish that sentence. There was no way that he could hold this in until morning.

“I want to be a father.” He said quickly, running the words together.  
It had been like ripping off a bandage.

John’s breath hitched in his throat. “So do I.” John said in return, his heart leaping with happiness at hearing Sherlock's confession.

Sherlock half-smiled. For once, he was lost for words.

The fact that they both wanted children was all well and good, but how on earth were they going to become parents?

Same sex couples were rarely given adoption situations, and Sherlock sure as hell didn’t know any females who would be willing to rent their womb out.

John could sense that Sherlock’s mind was beginning to race, and he leaned in and kissed him, allowing Sherlock’s mind a brief moment of calm. John had always been able to quiet his ever-rampant thoughts with the sweetest gestures.

“It’s going to be fine, whatever happens.” John reassured him. Sherlock sighed. He knew that John was right in saying this.

John knew of a woman that might be willing to help them out, but all of that sort of talk could wait until later.

It was nearly sunrise, and John knew that Sherlock was very tired. John turned out the lamp.  
“Come here.” He said, and Sherlock rolled over, mashing his face into John’s chest. John held him, as he lay there, trying to shut out all the thoughts, all the feelings, and just enjoy this feeling of being held, of being completely loved. 

It was nearly an hour before he fell asleep, long after John had drifted into slumber.

John had stayed up the entire time, waiting for Sherlock to come home, and was exhausted.

They awoke late that morning, and after John ate a breakfast of cold cereal, they continued the discussion from last night.

John could think of one person, one wonderful woman, who just might be willing to be kind enough to give them such a gift.

And he told Sherlock so. After discussing it a little more in depth, John describing what sorts of methods they could use, what sorts of procedures could be ahead.  
Sherlock was certainly curious about it, and John didn’t mind teaching him about it. 

After all, John hadn’t had many opportunities to teach Sherlock before. It was strange, but certainly nice, to have Sherlock pay such rapt attention to his medical descriptions. There was usually no point in discussing medicine with Sherlock, as he knew much of what John might have told him.

John made a lunch date to see the possible surrogate that afternoon, and Sherlock insisted on coming along. He wanted to make sure that any female involved would be suitable for their purposes.  
They couldn’t just pick any idiot off of the street. The woman would need to be smart, with good genes and excellent health.

John was a little hesitant to tell Sherlock just who it was that he had in mind, but after Sherlock pestering him for a name for a half hour, he gave it up.

“Sarah Sawyer.” Sherlock repeated. He wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about this. Sherlock had met the woman before, and hadn’t exactly been dazzled by her intellectual gifts. Although, he supposed that she fit into the other categories. She was healthy, and had good genes. Sarah was honest, and John knew her fairly well, which was a bonus.

And she was more than willing to give John and Sherlock a baby upon hearing the couple out.

Sarah didn’t want to raise a child, although she was very interested in giving birth to one and being able to visit it occasionally. She thought that it would be a wonderful thing to help John and Sherlock become what she deemed a ‘real family’, and to have a little piece of her out in the world.

John and Sherlock talked it over for a few days, before Sherlock agreed. Sarah was as good a choice as any, he supposed.

And so, over the next few months, sessions of in-vitro fertilisation were tried. On the fourth month, the process took and Sarah became pregnant.

Unfortunately, she miscarried, which was devastating.

They tried the process the next cycle, and again, it took, and they were each cautiously optimistic.

This time, Sarah did not suffer a miscarriage. Both John and Sherlock were there throughout the pregnancy, for every ultrasound and every important doctor’s visit.

When Sherlock heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. He actually teared up, and John hugged him tightly as he took in the rush of feelings. Of course, John was pretty overwhelmed himself, and by the end of the visit, they were both teary eyed and emotional.

John and Sherlock redecorated the guest bedroom for the baby, the gender of which they preferred to be a surprise. The gender didn’t matter much to them anyway. As long as the baby was healthy, that was what they cared about.

The nursery was beautiful and completely ready when Sarah suddenly went into labour five weeks early.

She called John and Sherlock after phoning for paramedics, and they arrived at her house before the ambulance did.  
The baby was coming quite quickly, and she’d been in light labour all that morning. She had thought there was still plenty of time, and for many women, there would have been. But, as John and Sherlock let themselves into the house, their baby was already in the process of making his or her big debut.

Sarah was in a lot of pain, and there was nothing in the house to dull the pain for her. There was no time, John helped Sarah out of her underwear and checked on things.  
He could already see the head. “Sherlock, I need a clean sheet right now.” He ordered. “This baby will be out any minute.” 

Sarah screamed as another contraction ripped through her body. “Push, Sarah, come on!” John encouraged. Sarah obeyed.  
“Another!” John told her, as she put all of her effort into it.

“Okay, stop!” He said after a few minutes. “Don’t push until I tell you.”

As the baby crowned, Sarah cried out in agony.  
This was the worst pain she’d ever felt, and was beginning to wonder if this hadn’t been a mistake. 

But, then the burning sensation began to ebb, and as John instructed her to push once more, that train of thought was derailed completely.

Sherlock returned to see the baby slip out, John holding it carefully as he cut the umbilical cord. The infant's strong cries echoed off of the walls. John grinned.  
“Take your shirt off.” He told Sherlock, who fumbled terribly with his shirt as he pulled it up over his head. 

John passed the crying, naked baby to Sherlock, who held it to his chest. He had been too excited to look and see whether it was a boy or a girl. “What… Is it a she or…” Sherlock mumbled nearly incoherently, as the child began to quiet down. 

John’s smile was wider than it had ever been.  
“It’s a girl.” He answered, his voice thick. “We have a daughter.” He laughed, and touched their newborn babe.

After their daughter, whom they named Hamish Ariella Holmes, was released from the hospital as her heart was weaker than most infants, Mycroft made sure to see them home.

Mycroft was at a loss for words upon seeing his little niece, and the moment that the brothers shared at this point was something that they would each cherish for the rest of their lives.

John invited Mycroft in, but he gracefully declined, feeling more or less like a third wheel. He thanked him for the offer, and before turning to leave, he congratulated them once more with a genuine smile.

The next few weeks weren’t easy. Sleepless nights, feeding schedules, learning to change diapers and so on. Not to mention that Klaus was so terrified of the new addition to the family and would hide for hours every time Hamish cried.

Soon enough, the proud parents were taking Hamish to the park in her pram. They ran across Greg Lestrade on one such outing. Lestrade hadn’t seen their daughter before, and couldn’t refrain from cooing over her.

Hamish was certainly a beautiful baby. She had Sherlock's vivid eyes, and John's mouth. She looked to be a perfect mix of both her fathers, so it was very difficult to tell just from looking at her whether she got her genetic makeup from John or Sherlock. 

“So, who’s is she?” Lestrade asked curiously. “Genetically, I mean. Obviously she belongs to you both.” He said before realising just how rude he had been. “Oh, shit!” He spat, then glanced at Hamish and apologised. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk, I just… Well...” He trailed off, feeling like a complete arse.

Neither John nor Sherlock were offended. In fact, they had expected this question sooner or later and were fully prepared for it.

“We don’t know.” Sherlock answered. “It could be either of us, and we’re happy with not knowing.”

Lestrade nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a clever way to do things.” He said, a little impressed.

After discussing a potential case, John and Sherlock were on their way. They walked slowly beneath the canopy of tall trees, sunlight dancing on their skin as the sun slipped through the leaves above them.  
They were about to have their very first family picnic in the park. Oh, there were so many firsts ahead of them!

As they ate, and Hamish lay down sleepily after her bottle, John and Sherlock exchanged a smile. They had been very happy before, but since Hamish had been born, they were closer than ever. As the sun sank slowly beneath the horizon, John gathered Hamish into his arms. Sherlock stuffed the picnic blanket into the pram’s undercarriage, along with the small picnic basket. John took a small blanket from the diaper bag, and draped it over Hamish to keep her from catching a chill from the cooling air. John took Sherlock's hand in his own and they walked, leaving Sherlock pushing the pram one-handedly.

And the family headed home, happier than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wrote this all in one shot, with my story coming to a close at 5:00 am. So if there are any mistakes that I've missed blame it on my sleep deprivation! 
> 
> I know the ending needs a bit of work, but it'll do for now.


End file.
